Unofficial Records of a Disgruntled Shade
by ChocolateWriter605
Summary: According to the stories, only evil accept becoming a shade. However, my curiosity gets the better of me. How about the unwilling? How do they cope in the darkness?(Going through a rewrite. Former Title: The Shade: A Series of Non-Canon Stories)
1. Introductions and Conspiracies

_Introduction_

According to the Inheritance Cycle Wiki, shades are born from a mishap of magic, spirits, and possession of a host. Shades allude to shadows. According to "Christopher Paolini, it was nearly impossible for a Shade to be good because of the inevitably evil nature of the spirit." The story even says that only evil spirits would take the opportunity to become a shade.

But as I found, their are loopholes in these statements. If you think about it, the stories never really mention anything about unwilling spirits forced into becoming a shade, or even an extended clear explanation on the nature of spirits.

It is generally left untouched, and for some, something to speculate about. Sadly, I am one of them, and took advantage to it.

I could be wrong...or I could be right. Only what we inherit from the stories will tell.

 **...**

 **Hi! I was sort of bored when I wrote this. If anything seems out of character, I apologies about that. I enjoy writing character development, but stories and trying to be in person for characters that aren't mine are a bit tricky for me. I noticed there are not a lot of shade fics with a Shade besides Durza at its center, so I wanted to add something I hope is good and a little different.**

 **I drew a bit of inspiration from analytical fics that examined the story and found several flaws.**

 **To those who wrote those fanfictions, thank you for opening my eyes to a new opportunity for something else. They were actually really interesting. I might make a few characters punching bags on the occasion, just a warning for a few.**

 **Because seriously, Arya may seem beautiful in Eragon's eyes...but I was offended by a certain comment she made in the first story. I wasn't to keen on it as Angela was a strong female character, and one of my favorites, so I took some offence to it.**

 **Anyways I hope you enjoy this. Don't burn me too much...it's been a while since I posted anything. I may not be consistent when writing this, so I will settle for writing short stories in to particular order. This is also a fanfiction, so don't take it so seriously.**


	2. Prologue: Clotted Blood

' _At the Battle of Urû'baen'_

My head swims as the battle rages around me. Something cold runs across my torso, but oddly warm at the same time. I let out a grunt, causing the sounds of both allies and enemies backing away to be added to the chaos around me. I fumble for my hammer. Someone tries to kick it away, but kicks my hand instead. I let loose another grunt and look up. My vision is still sticky with clotting blood, but I can make out the faint shape of an overly built man. I let out two fractured questions:

"Roran? Stronghammer?"

I start to use him to drag myself up, not caring about how it looked. Nor did I even consider how it may impact how people thought of me. Funny how I think about how I look now, even if I usually never did. I don't think Roran is thinking about it either. He seems to be stunned, unable to move.

I hear the swinging sound of a thin-long blade heading towards my general direction. I let go, stumbling away from the Stronghammer. I think he fumbles back, too. Something cool and red falls from my head. I think I can see a little clearer now, and my head is clearing up, too.

I sway, and look in the direction of the sword. My vision is definitely clear now. The sword is attached to the hand of an elf, with several strong emotions running across their face. I do not get their proper features. My mind runs too slow, and the cold across my torso seems to be inflaming as I stumble even more. All I can see is the moving sword, and feel the haze and cold on my torso and mind.

Something comes across my vision. A girl? Wait-

Suddenly, blood flies across my vision. Some fall into my partially opened mouth. The body turns towards me. Tanned skin, miscolored eyes that appear to shine in the dark.

No. No! NO!

Suddenly, I am stunned into reality. I open my mouth to scream, but something prevents me from crying out, as the head of a heavy hammer hits my spine.

Again, I fall to the ground, this time, on my knees, then once again, to the bloodied floor of the city. The haze and cold claim my mind again-and I am gone.

...

Oh! Did I forget to warn you? I may sometimes just drop you in the action sometimes.


	3. Chapter 1

It was as hot as a dragon's breath inside the forge. The safe-haven smelled of burnt pine, iron, and old stone. It crackled with dying embers, adding to the sounds of three pairs of feet.

Despite the shielding spells, the two children were able to burst into the workshop.

"Lucio! Luci!"

Despite the warnings, the children proceeded to ignore her as she chased them around the forge tables and weapon stands. And regardless of her efforts, the twins had long forgotten how to fear her. She sighed, paused mid-step, in a single bound, grabbed and swung them off their feet.

"Lucio. Luci. That's enough," Zara scolded in an attempt to sound harsh. They only looked up at her, with their grey eyes and olive faces. The twins blinked, like the cats that frequently visited her. Cat eyes, as she called them. Their worst weapon. Worse than puppy eyes.

Won over, she set them back down instead of dragging them into their room for a scolding. Instead, she gave them a pat...and a gentle push out the door. And handed them a few trinkets to keep them busy.

That ought to do it. Back to work. Zara proceeded to lift a screwdriver towards a screw between her fingers-

"Durza!"

-And gouged her pinkie instead.

For a moment, Zara remembered that shades had a delayed reaction to pain. However, they did not have delayed reactions to being startled, angered, and remembering much-hated people.

As such, only three words of the first words that came out of her mouth could describe the person just outside the door.

Three words not appropriate for children's ears.

Like clockwork, Zara dropped the screw, raced across the room, and ripped open the door.

And right out the door, was Durza, bribing the now-startled children with candy.


	4. Chapter 2

Durza, much like children, was startled by the sudden thunder caused by the oaken doors being slammed open by a very disgruntled Zara.

However, unlike them, he didn't show it.

"Ah Zara, good to see you."

Gentling shoving-pushing-brats to the side, he glided over to her.

Beautiful, even for a fellow shade. Still looked like she had a bewildered show bird for hair. Also, it looked as if she had gained a few pounds more than from the last time he saw her. She looked like one of those slightly housewives humans were so fond of.

To be fair, she did behave like one at times. She was clumsy and short, almost nothing like him save for the red of her hair and pale skin.

Muscles clenched, persistently glaring at him like a hawk, Zara rushed past him. She began to hustle her prizes from the slave shops away from him, down the hallway like a wounded mother cat. At that description, he might have unconsciously touched the former scars at his jaw-line. He had to make sure that his every move mocked her. So he smiled.

Zara moved even faster until she reached a corner and disappeared. The sound of oak moved almost soundlessly across the marbled floors of the small mansion. Zara scurred back to him in an almost unmasked fit of rage.

She glared at him even harder.

The words echoed the last time they had met: "What. Now."

He continued to smile at her.

Zara continued to get angrier.

Durza crossed his arms and loomed over her until his shadow covered her. Her face flustered under him, like the first time they drank together.

Durza opened his mouth, to boast about the next mission he had been given.

But before he could, Zara viciously pointed one leather-clad finger at him.

To get anger across to him, she seethed, "This better be quick." She did not attempt any physical contact, instead, stomping across the hallway towards the "backyard." To add to his _uninjured_ pride at her rather sad attempt to dismantle him, he simply walked down the hallways.

Durza was the first to slide open the door, out-pacing the woman by ten steps, or whatever was her equivalent of ten steps.

He examined the dark, walled-in yard. Carved marble depicting the fearsome battles from history books, and the ever wistful and sad hopes of those who were too pathetic to live through these events. Ivy and various other plant life entangled an old shack, unmanaged and left to run wild. If Zara had sharp ears and inky black hair like the objectives they were supposed to hunt, she could have fit right in with those arrogant, foolish elves.

Zara's angry huffing interrupted the silence of the garden. Out of the corner of his maroon eye, he could make out her smudge in the background.

em"Close the door"/em he barked. The smudge grew larger until Zara was in view, rushing across the doorway and into the garden, but not fast enough. The door slammed on the heal her foot.

He could practically her attempt not to curse.

Zara's figure moved in a jolt of energy, as she bumbled out into the garden.

He didn't even bother turning around. He admittedly made a mistake at that moment.

Durza suddenly felt a rough hand on his cloak and was yanked down until he could feel Zara's breath on the scalp of his head.

He could almost hear the gears in her brain working away at how to insult him. As if she could-

"You're still wearing the King's leftover drapes?"

pNevermind/p. He reached out and elbowed her in the stomach. Unlike himself, Zara, he knew, was not fast as he was. Only thick leather stood in his way, and it fell apart like paper. He felt the soft interior of her stomach, or rather, her tummy as it was now.

A sudden pressure was applied to his right ankle, and he moved his foot out of the way. The presence met his other ankle, and he fell.

Almost.

Zara's hands shoved him upright. A mistake on her end.

To show he was still the one in charge, he slid his sword out of its sheath, and swing it at her. She made a desperate attempt to block it with her forearms. With little effort, he stopped just a hair's brush away from her arm.

To her credit, she wasn't much of a warrior, huddled away in this hovel, hunched over like a dwarf and acting like a crazed cat lady with those "ex-slaves". They were still very much just toys in the hands of unkempt creatures.

In defeat, Zara put down her arms, although defensively. She glared at him, peeling off her worn gloves, unveiling sharp, hardened nails. His jaw pulsed as a reminder of what happened last time.

Though she was smaller, her muscles were also compacted from all the time she spent fumbling in the ember-lit forges. The wounds inflicted by those nails could make quick work of a mortal man. Durza was a shade, so there was just a ghostly reminder of that incident.

Taking her unintentional sign of defeat, he gripped a strand of her feathery hair and sheathed the sword in the other. It seems she had managed to collect what little wit she had, as she pressed a nail to the red sheen of the tendril and the rest against the flesh of his hand.

It was silent at first, both of them visually taunting the other. Then Durza spoke, "The ambush is tonight."

Zara looked surprised at first, then she scowled.

"Tonight?"

"Tonight." He let go of the strand. He started to walk around her. Zara proceeded to sit down on the steps of the garden doorway, back against the door. So, he sat in front of her, grinning.

"You have the weapons ready?"

She glared, barely aware of his request for her weapons was just a way to mock her. As if they would work well in the hands of the krulls, who were just as stupid as she was ignorant.

Zara huffed, "Yes, much faster than you can finish kissing the King."

His anger flared and he stood.

"Just get them out."

Fixing him one last glare, Zara stood up as well, and walked down the hallway, back to the forge, where her inventions were. The only truly admirable thing about her.

He still laughed internally. Even as an important asset to the war, she was such a coward, always hiding in the shadows of even the most laughable inanimate objects.

Although, these objects of hers were not very laughable. At least, for the elven princess and her two-person guard.

Only confusion and death awaited them.

The plot, he knew, was unstable in some parts, but it was in place. Not too far away, an egg was traveling through the Broken, the only spot the Empire was able to claim in the Spine, Zara's territory. And in Zara's house, a possible, controllable young rider. If one died, well, there was the other.

The king would reward him greatly. And maybe Zara, if he wasn't careful. But in his reality, most likely not.

He twisted the pommel of his sword and sauntered back into the halls.


End file.
